"Water for him," Hugo panted. "He has fainted. I snatched him from his outpost in a trench."
XIII
At Blaisencourt it was spring again. The war was nearly a year old. Blaisencourt was now a street of houses' ghosts, of rubble and dirt, populated by soldiers. A little new grass sprouted peevishly here and there; an occasional house retained enough of its original shape to harbour an industry. Captain Crouan, his arm in a sling, was looking over a heap of débris with the aid of field glasses.
"I see him," he said, pointing to a place on the boiling field where an apparent lump of soil had detached itself.
"He rises! He goes on! He takes one of his mighty leaps! Ah, God, if I only had a company of such men!"
His aide, squatted near by, muttered something under his breath. The captain spoke again. "He is very near their infernal little gun now. He has taken his rope. Ahaaaa! He spins it in the air. It falls. They are astonished. They rise up in the trench. Quick, Phèdre! Give me a rifle." The rifle barked sharply four, five times. Its bullet found a mark. Then another. "Ahaaa! Two of them! And M. Danner now has his rope on that pig's breath. It comes up. See! He has taken it under his arm! They are shooting their machine guns. He drops into a shell hole. He has been hit, but he is laughing at them. He leaps. Look out, Phèdre!"
Hugo landed behind the débris with a small German trench mortar in his arms. He set it on the floor. The captain opened his mouth, and Hugo waved to him to be silent. Deliberately, Hugo looked over the rickety parapet of loose stones. He elevated the muzzle of the gun and drew back the lanyard. The captain, grinning, watched through his glasses. The gun roared.
Its shell exploded presently on the brow of the enemy trench, tossing up a column of smoke and earth. "I should have brought some ammunition with me," Hugo said.
Captain Crouan stared at the little gun. "Pig," he said. "Son of a pig! Five of my men are in your little belly! Bah!" He kicked it.